M. de Tignonville was young and less versed in danger than the Governor
of Rochelle; with him, had he seen so much, it might have been different.
But he left the Louvre an hour earlier--at a time when the precincts of
the palace, gloomy-seeming to us in the light cast by coming events, wore
their wonted aspect. His thoughts, moreover, as he crossed the
courtyard, were otherwise employed. So much so, indeed, that though he
signed to his two servants to follow him, he seemed barely conscious what
he was doing; nor did he shake off his reverie until he reached the
corner of the Rue Baillet. Here the voices of the Swiss who stood on
guard opposite Coligny's lodgings, at the end of the Rue Bethizy, could
be plainly heard. They had kindled a fire in an iron basket set in the
middle of the road, and knots of them were visible in the distance,
moving to and fro about their piled arms.

Tignonville paused before he came within the radius of the firelight,
and, turning, bade his servants take their way home. "I shall follow,
but I have business first," he added curtly.

The elder of the two demurred. "The streets are not too safe," he said.
"In two hours or less, my lord, it will be midnight. And then--"

"Go, booby; do you think I am a child?" his master retorted angrily.
"I've my sword and can use it. I shall not be long. And do you hear,
men, keep a still tongue, will you?"

The men, country fellows, obeyed reluctantly, and with a full intention
of sneaking after him the moment he had turned his back. But he
suspected them of this, and stood where he was until they had passed the
fire, and could no longer detect his movements. Then he plunged quickly
into the Rue Baillet, gained through it the Rue du Roule, and traversing